Id Girl
by BuffyWannaBe
Summary: Takes place during Beer Bad, S4. Spike POV. What if Xander hadn’t found Cave!Buffy after she ran out of the dorm? Instead, she’s in search of more beer, but encounters our favorite bleached vamp that’s just returned from L.A. and is looking to drown his s


Id Girl

Disclaimer: All I own is my trusty laptop and a carton of Camels. There's really no point in suing me for anything.

Rating: um, PG-13 so far…

Summary: Takes place during _Beer Bad_, S4. Spike POV. What if Xander hadn't found Cave!Buffy after she ran out of the dorm? Instead, she's in search of more beer, but encounters our favorite bleached vamp that's just returned from L.A. and is looking to drown his self-misery in lots of booze. And along comes the fun...

Chapter 1: Buffy Want More

"_Beer! Buffy want beer," demanded the disheveled and insistent Slayer in her neanderthalithic state of mind. _

"_Now, you can't have beer," rebuked Giles firmly from directly behind her. _

_Their only answer was the slow turning of her mess of wild hair to scowl darkly at her Watcher before persisting slowly, menacingly, "Want. Beer." _

"_Giles, don't make Cave Slayer unhappy," warned Xander, with the fear of what an unhinged Buffy could do when her wants were thwarted. _

_Buffy banged a fist against her chest, making both men jump at the implications of what she was capable of if they stood in the way of her new objective. _

"_Buffy strong."_

"_Y-yes," stuttered Giles with a nervous laugh. "Buffy strong."_

"_Buffy get beer."_

"_Buffy get—" he'd started to say as he cautiously made his way closer to her, but his Slayer had already knocked him violently across her small dorm room and ran out the door before Giles knew what the hell was going on. _

The bartender poured another bourbon into his empty shot glass, turned to leave but was halted by the pale hand with chipped, black nail polish that had managed to clamp itself around Willy's forearm.

"Leave it, mate," came the cool, low tones of a cockney accent.

"Don't ya think you've had enough, pal?" countered the sleazy bartender.

The only response he got was a tightening of the grip that manacled his arm and a deadly scowl from the leather-clad vamp. Willy set the bottle on the table with a thud, then rubbed his arm where the death grip had just released it.

"Fine, Spike, old buddy. You just tell me what else I can do for you," he relented quickly, not bothering to cover his sudden nervousness at the vamp's black mood. Willy slowly backed away from the occupied corner table that was shrouded in shadow except for the orange ember of a burning cigarette.

"_Sod off_," came the growl from the dark and Willy quickly scurried to do just that, leaving Spike alone with his riotous thoughts.

Even in a place as notoriously nasty as good, ol' SunnyD, and a vamp still couldn't find any peace alone with his favorite bottle of liquid oblivion without some ponce stickin in his big nose. It was a bar, for cryin out loud, and a demon one at that!

Damn, bloody Americans.

Why the hell had he even left South America to come back to Sunnyhell in the first place? he wondered, not for the first time.

Sure, Dru had dumped him again and the Gem of Amarra had been reason enough to come back just so that he could've shown her that he was still the Big Bad. But then the stupid, bloody Slayer had kicked his soddin arse all over the campus, gotten a hold of it and sent it to her poof of an ex, along with her stupid Scooby friend. Now he'd managed to bollix up his carefully thought-out plan, lose the ring and _not_ kill soddin Angel either.

Unlife sucked!

And his whole attempt to mercilessly torture the Great Poof had gone to hell in a hand basket quicker than he could say "Caped Crusader." Sure, he'd wanted Angel to give up the Gem of Amarra, but the hot poker bit had just sounded like so much _fun_ that any excuse would have been sufficient.

But, no.

No fun for Spikey.

Peaches had his little rescue party, while Markus took off with _his_ ring.

Bloody, buggerin hell, his unlife was really going up in flames!

Spike self-consciously ran his hand over the top of his head and the singed strands of bleached hair that had _literally_ gone up in flames.

Maybe it was about time he really began to rethink his career as an evildoer. After all, he'd managed to bumble everything up to this point, and he wasn't quite as confident in his abilities as the Big Bad to take on the Slayer yet again.

No…wait. It wasn't his fault his plans had gone awry…

It was _hers_.

Her's and Angel's hero-complex, along with their gaggle of little friends, were always getting in the way, thwarting his every attempt to end their miserable little lives and gain a little amusement in the process.

So why, after the debacle in L.A., had he come _back_ to Sunnyhell?

Oh yah…he was here to kill the bitch. Tha's right…and this time, he'd show her. This time, he was going to put an end to the damn holier-than-thou attitude she always carried on her shoulders. Put an end to her stupid little quips and her stupid little friends.

No…better yet, he was going to put an end to _her_.

He'd somehow forgotten that in the haze of bourbon his head was wading in. But it was all coming back to him. Sort of. At least it would when he woke up tomorrow.

Stupid bint, always had to show up and get in the way at exactly the wrong time. She was the bloody bane of his bloody existence! But that was all gonna change.

A lone wolf, he was.

The sole survivor.

And all that rot!

Next time he and the Slayer met, he was gonna go ahead and have himself something he'd been wanting since he'd first spied the girl.

One. Good. Day.

Spike felt pleased with his inner conclusions, and in celebratory fashion, picked up his shot and slammed it back just as the door to Willy's Bar violently swung open on its hinges, crashing into the wall and making every otherworldly inhabitant turn to get a peek at the newcomer.

And Spike promptly choked on his shot of bourbon and tried his hardest not to spew the liquor all over the cheap Formica table in front of him.

Buffy. Of bloody course it would have to be her!

Swallowing carefully, he watched as the Slayer, looking pretty torn up he noted with much pleasure, limped her way into the seedy establishment, over to the bar and scowled at the annoying git behind it.

Spike noted that there was something profoundly pleasurable knowing that some nasty had obviously gotten a piece of her, what with the smudged dirt that covered her and the tangle that was her usual gold tresses. But he couldn't help feeling a little bitter that it hadn't been his doing…

Well, time to change that!

"Hey, it's the Slayer," said Willy, alerting the horned, fanged, and scaled patrons to the presence of the one person they feared above all else. A few managed to get up from their seats and make it out the door quietly before the Slayer started bustin' some heads.

Wankers, snorted Spike.

As unexpected as it was, this might just be the perfect time to catch the Slayer unawares, decided Spike, as he stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette determinedly. He then unfolded himself from his shadowed table, picked up his bottle of bourbon, and quietly slunk to the barstool not far from where the Slayer stood.

"Wow, ya look like you've had a rough day. Anything Uncle Willy can do for you? Ya know, strictly without the pummeling you usually dish out?"

"Want beer now."

"Are you sure, Slayer? Maybe I should ask for some I.D…Then again, maybe not," he muttered, fearfully noticing her scowl and the violent fire in her eyes. He filled a frosty mug to the brim as quickly as possible in his attempt to avoid the severe ass kicking her look promised. "Here you go. Enjoy," he said, sliding the beer across the counter.

And Spike's jaw dropped as he watched the pint-sized Slayer grip the mug, tilt it back, and down the entire thing like the soddin village drunkard.

This was Lil-Miss-Prissy-Pants who didn't look like she would soil her pretty little reputation as the Champion of Good by participating in underage drinking, let alone chug beer with a bunch of bloodthirsty demons lookin' on.

She slammed the mug back onto the sticky bar, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and demanded another.

"Buffy want more."

Spike wasn't the only one with his jaw open, he noticed. Willy was staring at the small girl like she'd suddenly grown scales or sprouted a tail or something. When he didn't immediately move to fulfill her demand, she leaned forward, her eyes locked to the other human's, and pounded her fist into the bar with each word she uttered.

"Want. More. Now."

The old bar shook with the force of her strength and Willy jumped to fulfill her request. It was clear that ignoring or arguing with the Slayer while she was in this state would be extremely unhealthy.

Another glass of beer was set in front of her, and without hesitation, she picked it up and took a healthy gulp. When she brought the glass away from her lips, she smiled, stared into the amber depths of her beverage, and let out a loud hiccup.

"Foamy!"

Spike smirked evilly.

That was a pretty big tip-off that something was wrong with the Slayer…maybe she'd been hit in the head and had suddenly lost some of her basic skills…such as the formulation of complete sentences? Walking apparently was a problem for her. Possibly also ass-kicking? And she sure wasn't as sharp as usual, otherwise she'd be pulverizing his undead ass into next week if she'd noticed him by now, especially after that whole beating the hell out of her during daylight hours thing. And all those little nasties he'd taunted her with. So, why wasn't she beating his face into a bloody pulp yet? Was she really that off her gourd that she wouldn't notice him sitting only a few feet away?

Hmmm…intriguing, Spike thought with a quirked brow. This could just be easier than he'd originally thought.

"Love the new look, Slayer. You're not embracing your usually sparkling personal hygiene, it seems. Decided to get down and dirty with the rest of us demons and finally pull that stake outta your arse, maybe? Or are you still cryin over that Mr. Vulnerability that used you shamelessly before he spat you out?" he asked as he turned his head her way, commanding her attention.

She merely blinked at him blankly, then scowled as she tilted her head to regard him from around the fall of her tangled hair. Spike waited for her to make the first move, gearing himself up for the violence he'd unleash on her at her usual reaction of beating the shit outta him. And she was damn sure to get pissy about that little barb he'd thrown her way…

Instead she dismissed him completely by turning her attention back to her beer and finishing the remainder of her drink with obvious satisfaction.

Not quite the reaction he'd been expecting…He watched as she made her way to the jukebox and gave it almighty kick, commanding it to, "Sing!"

Deciding not to let his chance at pissing off the Slayer go to waste, Spike renewed his efforts to start a fight with her; he got off his stool, sauntered to where she stood, and laid one arm over the top of the music machine to regard her with his usual cocky smirk.

He knew she hated it.

But the dirt-covered Slayer barely favored him with a glance as she pounded the machine again, and Spike felt his anger explode.

He was the Big Bad after all, and she couldn't just treat him as if he'd never even spoken, as if he wasn't standing right in front of her, hell bent on annoying the hell out her. He was more than determined to teach the little girl a brutal lesson at the way should treat her mortal enemy. There were rules, ya know, and she wasn't following them!

"So, pet, had a little rough and tumble tonight, then?" His purring question belied the anger roiling about inside him, and Spike silently congratulated himself in maintaining control over the situation. Truly a first for him.

She blinked at him again, as if she hadn't understood him, before she pointed to the jukebox, pouted prettily even with all the smudged dirt on her face, and repeated herself childishly, "Buffy want singing!"

Still determined to provoke her, Spike stepped into her personal space, crowding the small girl who still didn't back down, and brought forth his demon visage.

"Why's that, Slayer? You wanna dance?" he asked as he leaned into her menacingly and caught the scent of her that showed no trace of fear.

Her green eyes snapped to his, and for the first time he noticed the feral glint that traced their depths as her scowl grew angrier. She stared straight into his golden eyes and he dared her to make a move.

And she took that dare.

"Vampire bad!" she growled as she grabbed him by the front of his duster and, with a loud grunt, threw him through the window above the jukebox headfirst.

So much for control over the situation.

In a shatter of glass and flailing leather-clad limbs, Spike slammed into the side of a dumpster and fell to the grimy pavement of the alleyway outside.

"Right then. I'll not be trying that again," he muttered under his breath, suddenly wondering why he'd chosen to goad the girl when it always resulted in his own pain and suffering. Must be all the bourbon.

A bloke should've learned by now.

Slipping out of game-face and cursing the throbbing pain in his head, Spike rolled over only to spy the Slayer standing over him with a large branch in her tight fists that looked more like a soddin tree trunk to him.

For god's sake, she wasn't going to stake him with _that_, was she?

In the next instant, she was on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips as she pressed the length of the tree trunk across his throat, pinning him to the ground and cutting off his air supply…not that he needed it, really, but it was still damned uncomfortable.

"Spike bad!" she grunted above him, and despite his situation, he quirked an eyebrow at that.

"You finally picking up on that, pet? Gonna kill me now, or are you just having a little fun at ol' Spike's expense…again?" he wheezed out. He tried to use his free hand to grab a hold of her or land a punch, but she anticipated his move and instead threw the tree branch to the side and clutched the lapels of his duster. She then forcibly pulled him up, only to slam his head back into the unforgiving concrete. Several damn times!

"Bloody, buggerin hell! Will you lay off the leather? A-and the head?" he whined under her onslaught, trying to shake her hands loose from his coat.

Buffy leaned forward again to grab the front of his duster in order to repeat her attack, but stilled as she neared him, her nostrils flaring at something.

The look in her eyes was unrecognizable as they met his own, but it suddenly made his stomach do a little flip, and Spike was, needless to say, a bit confused about the whole soddin situation that had spun drastically away from him.

When the Slayer, in all her peculiar behavior tonight, brought her face to his chest and slowly, yet aggressively smelled her way up his body, Spike thought that maybe he'd fallen asleep again and was dreaming of her.

Again.

But when she buried her face in the crook of his neck and he could feel her warmth against his skin, Spike knew that this was not one of his twisted dreams that he would _never_ be able to tell his vamp mates for fear of being laughed out of soddin SunnyD. They'd never believe that he, William the Bloody, had wet dreams of the little Slayer night after night. Hell, he couldn't believe it himself.

Willing his body to go completely still so as not to draw her attention to the sudden reaction his lower half was undergoing, Spike gritted his teeth and wondered what the hell game she was playing at anyway. He opened his mouth to ask her just that when she cut him off.

"Spike smell nice," she muttered into his rapidly warming skin where her mouth was pressed against the side of his neck. Actually, to be more accurate, the whole of her warm, strong little body was pressed to his, and he was starting to feel a little funny about it.

But when her soft lips nibbled the skin of his neck, Spike's eyes rolled back into his head, as he tried desperately to remember that he was a vampire and she the Slayer, and that this was beyond _wrong_! With a tightly clenched jaw, Spike tried his hardest to bring his mind back around to killin' her and off of screwin' her senseless.

It was a little difficult, to say the least.

"Uh…Slayer have you suddenly gone completely daft? We're mortal enemies, and all that rot," he pointed out in confused and frustrated arousal. "Are you drunk? Is that—"

"Buffy want Spike," she muttered, her small hands clutching incessantly at his shoulders now.

"Slayer…Buffy, I don't think—"

"Buffy want Spike now," she demanded, pulling away from him to look down into his face. He had the uncharacteristic urge to pull her back into contact with him; he suddenly felt bereft without her warm softness pressed to his cool body. He raised his confused gaze to her face and recognized the determined set to her jaw as she regarded him angrily, daring him to deny her. He'd been witness to that look on many occasions, usually right before she threatened to stake him.

But _never_ like this.

All he could do was swallow. Hard.

Well…this night was becoming interesting, he thought sarcastically. Hell, he'd wanted to kill her and perversely enough, she was demanding that he was gonna be her next boy-toy.

Spike took several seconds contemplating how much fun they could have, but in the end, dismissed the idea. He may be the Big Bad, but he didn't go around fucking chits when they were obviously touched in the head.

Well, unless you counted Dru…

OK, so maybe that's not the greatest argument against doing what the Slayer wanted of him. And it would be kinda funny to give the little bint what she was asking, and then make another trip to L.A. to throw it in Angel's face. Spike couldn't stop the chuckle that erupted at that scenario.

Oh yah, tha's good times right there, he thought with a smirk.

Coming back to his present situation, he looked up into her big green eyes as she still had him pinned to the ground and decided whether he would do something that bleedin _evil_.

Spike heaved a defeated sighed after a moment.

No. He wasn't such an asshole to do that to her, he realized. Besides, when she got back to her normal bitchy self, as she no doubt would, she'd stake him for sure. She used that as her threat, but all she'd ever done was toy with him, and he wasn't about to give her any more of a reason to do him in than he already had. Trading blows was one thing, but taking physical advantage, whether it be sexual in nature or otherwise, of a girl when she's incapacitated or whatever…now that's just wrong. Besides it was always better having her at full Slayerness, or whatever you called it; there was no point in messing with her if it was gonna be that easy for him.

So there was no point killing her tonight either. All the fun had been sucked out of that little plan too.

Yah, that's the excuse, er…reason.

It had absolutely nothing to do the way she was looking at him, all pouty-like, with desire swirling in her emerald orbs. Or the smell of her arousal that was thick in the air around them. Or how much he was enjoying the feel of her body melded to his.

Or how guilty he would feel to see the hurt look on her face when she came back to reality and realized he'd ruthlessly taken what he wanted from her while she was obviously not playing with a full deck at the moment.

Much like the hurt look on her face when he'd taunted her about that Parker chap. The very same one that had somehow wounded him in the vicinity of his cold, black, evil heart.

Nope, not at all.

But, the Slayer had never been like this before, especially to him, and Spike was a little chagrinned to admit that he kinda liked her not bloodying him up this once and instead looking at him like she wanted to do naughty, naked things that she could never tell those nearest and dearest.

He vaguely wondered what she'd be like if this were real, instead of some fluke. If she really did want him, trust him to…

Never gonna happen, mate. Cause it _is_ a fluke. And don't you be forgettin' that…

So what to do about this? Well, that was the hard part.

He smiled up at her, hoping to disarm her long enough to get her off of him and figure out what to do with her before she decided to have her way with him anyway.

By the looks of the heated flush that rode her cheeks and the fire burning in her eyes, he didn't have much time...

A/N: Hey all, thanks for reading. Reviews and comments are definitely appreciated. And I also wanted to let you know that I have not abandoned my other WIP, The Rising Apocalypse. My muse is naughty and fickle, and I'm awaiting her return. I will hopefully update it in due time!


End file.
